


Robins Don't Tweet

by Driverpicksthemooseic (Ratkinzluver33)



Series: Twitter!Verse [2]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, I'm Sorry, M/M, Relationship Advice, Sequel, Social Media, Tim gives relationship advice, Tumblr, Twitter, YOU GUYS ASKED FOR A SEQUEL, so i wrote one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 20:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1360228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratkinzluver33/pseuds/Driverpicksthemooseic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes being a Twitter famous vigilante dating an alien clone with an insane pet dog has its benefits. (Twitter Bird Part 2: Now With More Banter!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Robins Don't Tweet

**Author's Note:**

> YOU ASKED FOR A SEQUEL. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'VE DONE. *Throws self off the cliff of shame*
> 
> (Enjoy. As always, beware my characterisation. And the fact that it's so short! ;a;)

It's been a month since Tim came out on Twitter as a not-completely-straight vigilante dating an alien clone with a dog who's too smart for his own good. (No, really. He couldn't even make this up if he tried.)

So far, it's gone pretty well. Luckily, blending in with the shadows seems to help with the paparazzi, but it unfortunately _doesn't_ help with the insane and sometimes disturbing fanbase they've amassed. As Jay had told him offhandedly while walking past the computer one day, "On the Internet, nobody can hear you scream."

Their fans are nosier and more obsessive than he is, and that's saying something. Actually, it's kind of saying a lot.

Kon doesn't seem to mind it. God knows, he has a mind of steel. But Tim sometimes wonders if, on one otherwise normal night, he'll wake up after dozing off in the Batcave with a rabid fangirl towering over him.

He may or may not have nightmares about it. Sometimes they're even wearing Joker face paint.

He shudders and goes back to looking at the computer screen, where he's been checking his Twitter for the past hour. Kon, with his horrible Kent politeness, has been begging him to go through _all_  of their fanart and write thank you replies. He's seen enough interpretations of his own dick in the past hour to last him a lifetime. He's not sure if he wants to die of shame or celebrate the fact that the public thinks he's incredibly well-endowed.

Which he is. Totally. Of course.

Absently, he trails his eyes over to the herbal tea Dick left on his desk earlier. It's disturbing how ready that man is to talk about feelings. Not to say that Tim doesn't have feelings, which would be ridiculous, considering he's not Bruce, but Dick takes it to slightly terrifying levels. According to his relationship counselling-orientated mind, you have to constantly talk about "how that makes you feel". Or something. Tim doesn't get it, and frankly, he doesn't know how Jay puts up with him all the time. They should rename Dick Krypto, since he follows everyone around like a lost puppy anyway.

Honestly, Jay has the patience of a fucking saint.

Speaking of saints, he's shutting off the computer. He's seen enough Priest!AUs and Wing!kink art to frazzle his brain.

Fangirls are strange creatures.

At that beautiful thought, Kon floats in.

"We've got mail," he says. "Fan mail. I got a PO box."

Tim looks at him, carefully schooling his expression into one of complete emptiness.

"Prepare for dick. And not the kind who likes herbal tea and tight spandex."

Kon drops the mail.

* * *

"You weren't actually kidding," Kon notes after half an hour of pure, straight up penis.

"Red Robin doesn't kid."

"Is this position even possible?" Kon cries, looking terrified.

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Probably. You want to try and see?"

Kon chokes on Dick's tea. Then, Krypto barks loudly and somehow lewdly from outside the door. Perhaps Tim should start calling him Big Brother. Not to mention the concerning fact that the damn thing has x-ray vision.

* * *

Tim uses the time Kon spends recovering (see: sleeping naked and snoring like a madman) to check the world of social media again. He has an addiction, and not just to Twitter. There's this place called Tumblr. It's pretty confusing. There's a lot of gay porn. He can't really explain more than that.

Sometimes he's tempted to expand even further and get a Youtube account, just so he could upload videos of Kon acting like a complete(ly adorable) moron. He wonders what people would say if they knew Superboy liked to watch Spanish soap operas and cry. A lot.

(Like, really, Dick even got out the _camomile._  That shit's heavy duty.)

For now, he's content to "Tweet" (which Jay likes to make really stupid robin-related puns about) about their everyday life.

Well, as everyday as life as a vigilante with a Twitter account can get. Things aren't particularly normal, especially not when Dick goes full on mother hen. He's pretty glad nobody has thought to Tweet about that one time with the fluffy blankets and the therapeutic after-mission children's TV marathon. Tears were shed.

It's not Tim's proudest moment. Then again, to be fair, even Jay was bawling, not that he'd ever admit it, of course.

He's interrupted from his reverie when he notices a Tweet.

\--

 **Charlotte Webbe** _@spiderswebbe_

@redrobinyum @therealsupahboi You guys are so cute together! I wish I could come out to my parents so my girlfriend and I could do this kind of adorable shit. #c'estlavie #superrobin

\--

The Dick Grayson in his head whispers, "Get the virtual herbal tea!" and Tim suddenly can't pull his fingers away from the keys.

He has ten more messages asking for advice within the next few minutes.

He knew it would come back and bite him in the ass. This, he supposes, is what irony tastes like -- _tea._

* * *

Kon thinks it's the best thing to ever happen to them, but he still offers to come as backup when Tim goes to Dick to ask for _more_ relationship advice.

"I don't want to do this," Tim says, standing outside Dick's door.

Kon looks at him, trying his best to look serious. He fails, and manages to gasp out, "Think of the children." Then he bursts into hysterical laughter, which consequently gets Dick to open the door before Tim can turn and run.

"Hey, Lil' Bro! Lil' Bro-in-law! What can I do you for?"

"I need some more of your relationship advice," Tim tries, cautious. He might as well say it outright, anyway. What could go wrong?

Dick's eyes expand to the size of saucers. "Do you want me to get the t-"

"No. No, I think we're good," he interrupts. He's probably going to overwork his kidneys if he's not careful.

"Are you and Kon fighting?" Dick says, ushering them inside his room.

His room isn't full of pastel colours and stuffed animals, which has always been surprising. In fact, it's kind of hardcore. Books are strewn everywhere in the dim light, shadowing the room in a pattern Tim can't stop tracing. Then again, anything is better than making eye contact with his social justice loving, politically correct, hippie, vigilante older brother.

Or, you know, that's Tim's headcanon.

_Wait, wha-_

"No way, dude!" Kon snaps, before Tim can finish his mental breakdown. "These are for our followers."

Dick doesn't ask what followers are, which further supports Tim's horrifying theory. Instead, he nods, as if understanding them completely, and sits down on the bed, scratching his chin.

"We have a list," Tim offers.

"A list?"

"Of their problems," Tim elaborates. "The ones we're going to solve for them."

"And to think I believed you were only about _legal_  justice," Dick mutters. Tim eyes him angrily, but his brother conveniently forgets to notice. "Alright. Hand it over, and I'll write down my solutions. Gimme a couple hours; I'll have it done."

Tim stares, dumbfounded, but Kon just high-fives them both and gleefully cheers, "Now _that's_  what I call service!"

* * *

_So,_  Tim thinks, _my alien boyfriend, my big brother, and I run a vigilante-approved relationship advice Twitter account. And more often than not, our dog helps._

It's taken a little while for him to absorb this, but he's pretty glad. He's always, as is pretty obvious, liked helping people, and the chance to improve the lives of people who aren't in mortal peril while simultaneously fighting crime isn't one he'd want to turn down. It feels a little like he's got a part-time job on the side. Like he's growing up, or something.

Shaking his head at his rambling, he looks out over the building ledge he's perched on and out into Gotham. The city lights at this time of night always seem to calm him down, even when he's not had a stressful mission. It's like _his_  version of the Grayson Tea.

Silently, Kon floats down next to him, akin to a feather, and rests his head on Tim's shoulder.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" he asks.

Tim nods. "There's nothing quite like it, you know? It's not like this in other cities."

"Huh. It isn't, is it?" Kon chuckles at this, shaking his head. "'S nice. Gotham's definitely unique."

"You can say that again," Tim snorts, not entirely derisively.

He's not supposed to love Gotham, or fighting crime, or running stupid Twitter accounts, or maybe even Kon, but he does anyway. It probably says something about his life. Then again, he hasn't really done too badly.

No, he hasn't done badly at all.

* * *

_FIN._


End file.
